


Drunk Nights, Hungover Mornings

by inkheartcm



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, can be read as Aramis/Porthos, hangovers, this fits into my college au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-19
Updated: 2015-04-19
Packaged: 2018-03-24 17:43:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3777673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkheartcm/pseuds/inkheartcm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’m gonna drown him in the toilet,” Porthos growled under his breath. Aramis grinned as he slowly sipped his water. The smell of bacon filled the house and brought Athos out of his room. If Aramis thought, he was feeling bad; Athos looked like death had warmed over. </p><p>Hungover boys in the morning and d'Artaganan taking care of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drunk Nights, Hungover Mornings

Aramis was slumped against the dining room table, his third or maybe fifth cup of coffee clenched in his hand. The persistent pounding in his head would not go away. No matter how many sips of this bitter concoction that barely passed for coffee, he had. There wasn’t any cream, because Athos was an idiot who liked his coffee as black as his soul. It also might be that Athos refused to buy it anymore, because he said that Aramis ‘was perfectly capable of going to the store himself.’ But Aramis was still putting his money on black coffee equaling a black soul.

“Dude, you know that you’re drinking coffee grounds and water,” d’Artagnan said. The boys chipper voice was suddenly much too loud and much too close. Aramis groaned as the pounding in his head increased. He buried his head in the crook of his arms.

“Go away,” he pleaded to the table. His arms muffled the plea, or d’Artagnan was ignoring him. The little bastard.

“I come bearing gifts,” d’Artagnan said. His voice was still annoyingly chipper, but he wasn’t as loud. Part of Aramis wanted to raise his head and see what the boy was doing. The other part wanted to hurl the gleeful idiot into a volcano. There was the sound of cupboards being opened and closed, followed by the clattering of dishes. Heavy footsteps approached the table where Aramis was doing a decent impression of a corpse. Aramis recognized them as belonging to Porthos.

“What the hell are you doing?” Porthos asked. His voice cracked slightly.

“Cooking,” d’Artagnan replied. “Here. Aramis, you’re gonna want these too.” Aramis grudgingly raised his head. He fixed d’Artagnan with what he hoped was an Athos worthy glare. D’Artagnan ignored the glare and took the terrible coffee that Aramis had been drinking. Handing him pain pills and a glass of water.

“Food?” Aramis asked after he’d swallowed the pills. His stomach rolled at the thought of eating anything.

“Just eat what you can,” d’Artagnan said from the kitchen.

“I’m gonna drown him in the toilet,” Porthos growled under his breath. Aramis grinned as he slowly sipped his water. The smell of bacon filled the house and brought Athos out of his room. If Aramis thought, he was feeling bad; Athos looked like death had warmed over. Athos wordlessly took the offered glass of water and pain pills. All but collapsing in the chair across from Aramis.

“Eat,” d’Artagnan ordered. He deposited a plate in front of each of them. Along with mismatch cutlery and paper towels. Porthos took a few bites, while Athos paled at the mere sight of the food. Aramis poked at his eggs with a spoon. Hoping his stomach would keep down the food, he started eating.

“What happened last night?” Aramis asked. There were some pretty severe gaps in his memory. Athos didn’t respond. Honestly, Aramis wouldn’t be surprised if the man had fallen into a coma. 

Porthos shrugged and added. “I’d be accepting any stories about the adventures last night, in particular why my knuckles have dried blood on them.”

“Pretty sure you punched a wall. I’d say that you were all shit faced, but I’m too polite for that,” d’Artagnan said. His grin was positively too gleeful.

“Polite my ass,” Porthos said. Aramis snorted. The constant drumming in his head was dulling and he was feeling less corpsey. Even Athos looked to be feeling marginally better. Aramis glanced at Porthos face for the first time.

“Aramis, why is your face covered in marker?” Porthos asked. Aramis squawked indignantly and tried to rub it off. Which was ridiculous, because he couldn’t see where it even was.

“That was Porthos,” d’Artagnan said. “But that didn’t happen until near the end of the party. First Athos told everyone he was an alcoholic squirrel.” Aramis forgot about trying to rub the marker off. Distracted by the fact Porthos had done it and that Athos had apparently called himself a squirrel.

“A what?” Athos asked. The glare he had pinned d’Artagnan with would have been more terrifying if Athos’ hair wasn’t everywhere.

“You had found booze in your room and said you were like a ‘fucking alcoholic squirrel,” d’Artagnan replied. “Least you weren’t as drunk as Aramis got.”

“How drunk was I?” Aramis demanded. He liked partying, but he would be the first to admit it, he tended to make terrible decisions while intoxicated. D’Artagnan, being the little shit that he was didn’t answer him. Instead he brought their plates into the kitchen and poured them coffee.

“I have never seen you that drunk in my whole time knowing you,” d’Artagnan said as he placed both a cup of coffee and new creamer in front of Aramis. Okay, maybe the kid wasn’t a complete shit.

“I couldn’t have been that drunk,” Aramis defended himself airily. He poured a copious amount of creamer into his coffee before Porthos snatched the bottle out of his hands.

“Aramis, someone said that we were out of ice. You collapsed on the spot and started sobbing, saying ‘but where will all the polar bears live?” D’Artagnan said. “You were ‘that drunk.’” Porthos was laughing so hard that he was crying and even Athos gave a half smile.

“Please tell me that there is a video?” Porthos said, wiping tears from his eyes.

“Constance took one,” d’Artagnan replied.

“Traitor,” Aramis said. He hoped that Constance was the only one who had a copy of that. Aramis was glad that he couldn’t remember most of last night.

“Why’d I highlight Aramis’ face?” Porthos asked. Aramis glared halfheartedly at him. The man never suffered long from hangovers.

“I’m not sure what kind of drugs you were on last night, but you kept trying to highlight Aramis’ face cause you said he important,” d’Artagnan said. “Constance definitely has a video of that one.”

“Next time,” Athos said. “We’re drinking here.” Aramis made a noise of agreement before swallowing the rest of his coffee. D’Artagnan chuckled.

“What’s so funny?” Aramis asked. He was praying that there was no penis drawing on his face.

“After Louis threw everyone out, you dragged everyone here,” d’Artagnan replied. Aramis buried his face in his arms with a groan.

**Author's Note:**

> So this was from several different prompts that I found and now I can't really remember which ones they were.


End file.
